Old Haunter
by Dodectron
Summary: A tale of the world's most haunted house- or is it? Rated T.
_New directions, new times, good people and better leadership. Hope you all enjoy a small excerpt from something I made today!_

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The first dark fingers crept across the sky, chasing vibrant pink and gold beyond sight. Long shadows cast by the frosted mountain peaks waved strangely on cracked, rotting wooden walls as dusty shutters seemed to glare from the ancient house's vine-encrusted face.

The trainer licked their lips, wincing at the bitter taste of centuries-old air. Gripping the padded synthetic of his backpack's arm-strap with clammy fingers, he took one hesitant step towards the door. It loomed, shadowed, the frame's corners hanging white with razor-sharp gossamer-spun threads. The acidic green body of a spider slowly shuffled out of sight.

"This is it. Old Haunter," he muttered, running a gloved hand through wispy brown hair.

It had not been minutes since the trainer arrived at the thickly-grassed, weed-choked pathway, but every second seemed to pass after an age. Thorny leaves scratched and clung to his waterproofed jacket, cold, clinging filth oozing from somewhere in the undergrowth splattering with every footstep. The closer one travelled to the abandoned mansion, the thicker it seemed a sour grey mist billowed from beneath its rotting bowels.

But the trainer was not stymied. Producing a woollen beanie from a zipped-up jacket pocket, he pulled it on and strode up to the verandah. The stairs had long since fallen away into the garden. He climbed up with a quiet grunt.

Flipping open a small pamphlet with one hand, the trainer eased the front door open. It was unlocked and swung agape at the lightest touch.

'Old Haunter,' began the instruction booklet, 'a beloved and infamous part of our town. Some say that the shrieks and strange occurrences from the region's most haunted house are simply tricks of the wind. Some believe that, honouring the name, it is a cursed place inhabited by the angry spirits of the old woman and her dead son that last lived there.

Others claim to have seen creatures with hungry mouths and soulless eyes creeping from the windows of Old Haunter, seeking the living foolish enough to wander close...'

A loud bang made him jump and drop the guide, left hand dropping to hip height.

The entrance room was lit strange blue-grey, with no discernable source. A decrepit staircase led around the right-hand side of the high space, three ground-level doorways leading into separate rooms. Deciding to forgo the second floor the trainer stepped towards the middle-most door.

Soft skittering passed from under the floorboards, like many tiny claws scrabbling on tiles. Taking a pok ball and holding it at the ready, the trainer puffed a frosty breath into the still air and continued.

A silver light flashed behind him, but a glance over his shoulder revealed nothing but the silent, empty room.

It was a playroom. Children's toys littered moth-eaten carpet. Inch-thick dust carpeted everything.

Faded blues, yellows and greens streaked the walls in once-cheerful smiling sunflowers and perfect clouds. Shattered bookcases lay like the dead things they were along the walls, as if placed in perfect size-appropriated piles. A deathly chill lay over this place.

"H-hello?" he squeaked. Oh, that sounded awful. The trainer cleared his throat and winced at how the silence of the old building was shattered by that tiny sound.

Something moved. He flinched and corrected his feet quickly, trenching dust around his boots.

"What's there? Come on out!"

There was nothing but that hair-raising tremor in the air. Bitter, sour wind brushed tiny wavelets of old dirt in a slight swirl of life in that dead house. He wrinkled his nose and covered it with an open right hand, licking his lips and spitting into an abandoned corner.

More movement. This time, the trainer caught it- the darkness moved as if alive, and he startled back towards the open door. Moments later he frowned and stepped forward again.

To be sure, the shadows were moving... but the movement seemed almost familiar. As if a car was driving by and the headlights shifted light and colour through windows, shifting the darkness away from a brighter light. He thought for a moment and then tossed the red ball from his belt into the air.

It suspended for a moment and swung open, some energy from within exploding into being. A short-furred creature leapt to the floor, landing on light paws as if it returned to the physical world from energy beams every day of its life.

"Esssp," it declared firmly.

"Use Flash! There's something hiding here, and I need to know what it is!" the trainer said.

Clear white light burst forth and irradiated the room for the first time in a very long while. The tiny red gem on the cat's forehead threw tiny, brilliant reflections on the walls as it walked with a confident grace through the dust.

Delicate toes left the grey carpet undisturbed. Once at the opposite wall, the lavender creature turned to its master and seemed to stare. It suddenly leapt forward, a smooth and fast as lightning, bounding once forward and from there overhead, forked tail whipping furiously behind it.

Blinded by the Flash technique, the trainer stumbled out of the way and only just avoided a scorching burst of blue flame. As it was, a long black streak sullied the perfection of the cat's coat- and it made its displeasure known with an angry yowl.

He blinked spots away and rubbed reflexive tears from his eyes, rubbing the tingle in his nose away before glancing up at the loud fight going on in the doorway.

A silver blur was scrabbling with his pink psychic cat, but both somehow graceful even in the midst of the Pok mon version of a barfight.

It reared back from the fierce teeth and psychic sparks emanating from the cat and tossed its head, small and perfect white fangs gnashing at the air. Blue fire balled up in its open mouth and burning, sulfuric red eyes glimmered as the beast fell upon his partner.

"EeeeEEEEEESP!"

The cat wailed as its fur melted and burned away, the huge silver animal bearing down too heavily for escape. The trainer yelped in horror and nearly dropped the ball in his haste to recall it.

His friend glanced up at him with huge, beautiful eyes and mewed gratefully as it disappeared.

The silver Pok mon, however, was not so pleased.

He had to admit, it was a majestic monster. More sleek than his fastidious Espeon, it bore a fine forelock and ruff that it shook in a deliberate, threatening fashion. Impossibly delicate paws were practically hidden beneath the thick molten-furred chest, and lashing, sky-blue crowned tails writhed behind it.

This was the beast that haunted Old Haunter. And it did not like others coming upon protected, sacred ground.

The creature had used fire. Perhaps... water?

"I choose you! Water Pusle, then Aurora Beam!" the trainer shouted as another ball flew up.

A crustacean collapsed into the dust with an unhappy grunt and raised a huge claw directly at the angry beast.

Something passed through those terrible red eyes and the silver Pok mon raised its head. A roar, louder than any creature so delicate should be capable of, shook the very foundations of the house. Tails and long fur rose as if electrified, floating freely in a strange field of power.

He was beginning to wonder if this was a very good idea. That thought seemed timely when his blue lobster shivered violently at the din and recalled itself.

"D-darn... it..." This was supposed to be full of ghosts! Whoever heard of a ghostly field egg-group beast with the power of blue fire?

It surveyed him with that loftily high-held neck. Those burning eyes looked straight down its fine muzzle and at him. Curious, perhaps... but with a growing... hunger.

The floor squealed loudly under his boots and it stepped forward. The sheer menace raising its hackles and tails was palpable. His eyes couldn't tear away from that bloody gaze. The longer he looked, the warmer he felt. Soft... gentle... creeping through his chest and worming around his heart until it slowed, lulled, in its grip.

He was on the floor. The grey beast stared down at him. He couldn't seem to focus on any one thing... the harsh lines of that sleek body blurred into the dust... the ashes... of the playroom...

It wasn't a harsh ending. Not until the last.

There was a loud scream, muffled, perhaps, by moth-eaten curtains and rain-softened lumber. It wasn't the first of disappearances to happen in Old Haunter. But when a young man, ragged from days of wandering, clutching his most precious possessions- scorched pok balls- to his chest appeared in the nearby village, out of his mind and babbling about blue fire...

Well, Old Haunter had never before prospered the valley in curious tourists or adventurers so well.


End file.
